The Ragged Girl's Sunday
"Oh, dear Mamma, that little girl
Forgets this is the day
When children should be clean and neat,
And read and learn and pray!
Her face is dirty and her frock,
Holes in her stockings, see;
Her hair is such a fright, oh, dear!
How wicked she must be!
She's playing in the kennel dirt
With ragged girls and boys;
But I would not on Sunday touch
My clean and pretty toys.
I go to church, and sit so still,
I in the garden walk,
Or take my stool beside the fire,
And hear nice Sunday talk.
I read my bible, learn my hymns,
My catechism say;
That wicked little girl does not—
She only cares to play."
"Ah! hush that boasting tone, my love,
Repress self-glorying pride;
You can do nothing of yourself—
Friends all your actions guide."
Criminal Pride
Hark the rustle of a dress
Stiff with lavish costliness!
Here comes on whose cheek would flush
But to have her garment brush
'Gainst the girl whose fingers thin
Wove the weary 'broidery in,
Bending backward from her toil,
Lest her tears the silk might soil,
And in midnight's chill and murk,
Stitched her life into the work.
Little doth the wearer heed
Of the heart-break in the brede;
A hyena by her side
Skulks, down-looking—it is Pride.
J. R. Lowell
Foolish Fanny
Oh! Fanny was so vain a lass,
If she came near a looking-glass,
She'd stop right there for many a minute
To see how pretty she looked in it.
She'd stand and prink, and fix her hair
Around her forehead with great care;
And take some time to tie a bow
That must, to please her, lie just so.
Her mother's bonnet she'd put on,
And all her richest dresses don,
And up and down the room parade,
And much enjoy her promenade.
She always liked to wear the best
She had, and being so much dress'd
Could not enjoy the romps with those
Who wore much less expensive clothes.
Each day she grew so fond of dress
It gave her great unhappiness
If every day, and all the while,
She wasn't in the latest style.
If asked to turn the jumping-rope
Her pretty parasol she'd ope,
Lest she should freckle in the sun:
And that was her idea of fun!
She didn't dare to take the cat
Or poodle-dog from off the mat,
Lest they should catch their little toes
In laces, frills, or furbelows.
The very things that gave her joy,
Her peace and comfort would destroy,
For oft an ugly nail would tear
The costly dress she chose to wear.
The foolish girl turned up her nose
At those who dressed in plainer clothes,
And lived in quiet style, for she
With wealthy people chose to be
She never was the least inclined
With knowledge to enrich her mind;
And all the mental food she ate
Was served upon a fashion-plate.
As this was so, you'll see at once
That Fan grew up a silly dunce:
An there was nothing to admire
About her, but her fine attire.

[Previous] - [Index] - [Next]

Page 63—Pride Land

Pride
Come, come, Mr. Peacock,
You must not be so proud,
Although you can boast such a train,
For there's many a bird
Far more highly endowed,
And not half so conceited and vain.
Let me tell you, gay bird,
That a suit of fine clothes
Is a sorry distinction at most,
And seldom much valued
Excepting by those
Who only such graces can boast.
The nightingale certainly
Wears a plain coat,
But she cheers and delights with her song;
While you, though so vain,
Cannot utter a note
To please by the use of your tongue.
The hawk cannot boast
Of a plumage so gay,
But more piercing and clear is her eye;
And while you are strutting
About all the day,
She gallantly soars in the sky.
The dove may be clad
In a plainer attire,
But she is not so selfish and cold;
And her love and affection
More pleasure inspire
Than all your fine purple and gold.
So, you see, Mr. Peacock,
You must not be proud,
Although you can boast such a train,
For many a bird
Is more highly endowed,
And not half so conceited and vain.
Sinful Pride
How proud we are, how fond to shew
Our clothes, and call them rich and new,
When the poor sheep and silkworm wore
That very clothing long before!
The tulip and butterfly
Appear in gayer coats than I;
Let me be dress'd as fine as I will,
Flies, worms, and flowers exceed me.
Dr. Watts